


let's get to what we're doing here

by remembermyfic



Series: and it's called black magic [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Curse Breaking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21956869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remembermyfic/pseuds/remembermyfic
Summary: Jack stands there for a few more beats, like Connor's supposed to give him more. She won’t, she’s faced ‘scarier’ humans than a pissed off hockey player, and she can’t lie: she gets a thrill out of dismissing him so casually, without groveling.He can call her in, she thinks, but any cursebreaking of his ‘bullshit magic’ is going to be done on her terms.
Relationships: Jack Eichel/Connor McDavid
Series: and it's called black magic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1337263
Comments: 5
Kudos: 118





	let's get to what we're doing here

**Author's Note:**

> If you know the humans, click out. 
> 
> This has been the better part of a 6 month wait because it was the climax of this year's advent fics. Enjoy!

Connor is a legend and she knows it. She’s extremely good at her job and runs her company with benevolent diplomacy. It affords her the opportunity to be picky about the clients she personally attends to, especially with her roster of all-star staff. 

“Sir, you really can’t-“

Connor doesn’t startle when her door swings open. Instead, she sets down her pen and Alex’s report on the Blackhawks situation to find Jack Eichel glaring at her.

“Welcome to Toronto,” she greets him calmly. “Though aren’t you missing practice?”

“I have the flu,” Eichel says dismissively, though he very does not look like he’s ill in the slightest. “And this is more important.”

Connor’s been keeping an eye on the Buffalo situation, so she certainly doesn’t need him to define ‘more important’. She’s glad, however, that he’s taking it seriously, piercing blue eyes almost feral. It gets her blood pumping.

“I didn’t work my ass off for sixteen years to get drafted, continue to work my ass off to be elite in this league and captain my team to have it fucked up because of some bullshit magic that was there before I started.”

Connor leans back in her chair. She will not be bullied into helping, for one thing. For another, she cannot stand people who don’t take magic seriously. It’s ninety percent of the reason the Sabres are given their current predicament. At least, that’s her assumption without exploring the details. She’s also not about to let on how badly she wants to explore the details.

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do about it, Mr. Eichel?”

“Whatever it fucking takes. I’m not spending my career losing because of something out of my control.” He leans over her desk, intimidating to many, Connor’s sure, with the way it highlights the breadth of his shoulders and the strength in his arms. She can see how he’d be fierce to play against. “Whatever it fucking takes.”

She watches him for a beat, then two. “I’ll have to talk to your GM,” she murmurs, watching those blue eyes flash. She’s only human, and she’s willing to admit if he were less of an asshole…

“What, like permission?”

“I can’t just waltz in there and tell him something’s wrong with his team,” Connor replies, eyebrow raised because she knows very well what kind of look that presents. “You can’t stand there and tell me you’d like it.”

She knows she has him, and he does too because he huffs and stands again. “I’ll talk to him.”

Talk is a very fluid word for Jack Eichel. Connor can see that in his face. It’s probably part of what’s ailing the team, but that’s a problem for another time.

“I’ll look forward to his call.”

He stands there for a few more beats, like she’s supposed to give him more. She won’t, she’s faced ‘scarier’ humans than a pissed off hockey player, and she can’t lie: she gets a thrill out of dismissing him so casually, without groveling.

He can call her in, she thinks, but any cursebreaking of his ‘bullshit magic’ is going to be done on her terms.

“You watched his ass on the way out didn’t you?”

“Don’t sound so smug,” Connor replies, and stirs her microwave dinner. One day she’ll leave the office early enough to cook. It’s her New Years’ Resolution. It has been since 2015. “Of course I did. It’s a hockey ass. And those thighs? I’m human.”

“Not according to most accounts. Which works for you.”

Connor knows Alex Debrincat has no stones to throw. Her own good work had landed her a hockey dude and given Alex rarely makes the trek to Toronto anymore, Connor would bet her Chicago-based colleague is the happiest she’s been in a while. “Either way, I’m not blind.”

Alex hums on the other side of the phone. “When’s your trip and how long will you be gone.”

“I have to wait for Botterill,” Connor says, even as she chuckles. “Sovereignty and all that.”

“You know I hate when you use obscure legal terms in every day conversation.”

“I can’t just go into Buffalo.”

“You could,” Alex retorts, “If only because everyone knows who you are and Buffalo knows their fucked. Jack Eichel’s support probably helps.”

“He’ll call, Alex. Bowman called.”

“And hey, no one’s judging if you want to get up close and personal with the captain while you’re at it.”

“You have sex on the brain.”

“Let me tell you, it’s for good reason.”

Connor wrinkles her nose. “Spare me the details.” She’s saved by her call waiting. _Unknown caller_ flashes at her. “Al, I have to go.”

“Let me know if Jack Eichel’s any good in bed.”

Connor rolls her eyes, but she’s in full professional mode by the time she says, “Connor McDavid, how can I help you?”

“Ms. McDavid, Jason Botterill, Buffalo Sabres.”

Connor grins.

There’s nothing in the arena.

Much like Alex, Connor likes going into the venues of her clients before the client knows she’s there. It’s easy with something like KeyBank, because Sabres games are open to those that purchase tickets. So, Connor watches the Sabres lose in an arena that, for the most part, doesn’t feel crazy or different and there certainly isn’t a magical signature that trips Connor’s very sensitive abilities.

When she steps into the locker room, however, she almost straight up chokes.

“You’re here!”

She has to stumble back, which is very embarrassing to do in front of a hockey team; even more so in front of Jack Eichel. It’s not a conscious choice. It’s the choice of her magic, shoving her out of the room until she’s a few steps down the hall and can breathe again. There’s a thumping sound behind her and Connor looks up to find Eichel there, a look on his face that might be a glare, but may also be concern.

“What the fuck?”

She lets out a loud, “Ha!” and takes a couple very deep breaths. “I could say the same thing to you.”

“You’re not supposed to run,” he shoots back.

Connor looks up, then has to look further up, not anticipating Eichel still in his skates. “Whatever the hell is going on here starts and ends in that room.”

His nose wrinkles. “What does that even mean?”

Connor still can’t breathe properly, still feels whatever it is rolling like oil through her stomach, but she takes Eichel’s hand, ignores how big it is – mostly, if she’s going to save it for fantasies later, that’s between her and her hotel room – and drags him back towards the locker room. On the way she risks a hell of a lot of things by opening her magic to him, so by the time they step in the room, he’s already trying to tug her backwards.

“What the fuck?” he says, already gasping and yanking at her hand. Connor releases him and he stumbles, but she knows is otherwise okay.

Which is when Botterill walks up, Housley in tow. “Ms McDavid.”

“Mr Botterill.” She’s cordial enough, even as she’s choking. “Thank you for inviting me in.”

“Of course.” He glances at the locker room and Connor feels the bile rise up her throat. “Shall we?”

“No.”

Even Eichel looks surprised that he’d spoken up.

“Jack-“ Housley begins.

“No. Whatever… not without protection.”

Connor blinks at him, considering. Her stomach is still rolling, but she’s not convinced that it’s all about the magic anymore.

“Ms. McDavid?”

“There’s definitely something here,” she says, slowly, measured. She’s absolutely choosing her words and she refuses to feel guilty about it. “Mr. Eichel has a point, however. There’s enough magic floating around in there that I would feel better about pulling it apart with a little bit more time to prepare. Now that I have a better idea of what it is.”

Eichel’s face looks like a combination of things Connor feels like she can’t begin to unravel. Both Housely and Botterill are nodding sagely.

“Of course, of course.” Botterill looks to Eichel. “I’ll leave you in Jack’s capable hands.”

Connor very valiantly does not laugh at the sour look on Eichel’s face. “I’m sure I can handle myself.”

“Pretty sure you almost died just there.”

“I wasn’t prepared,” she argues, pulling herself straight and tall. “Now that I know, I can go in with better defenses.”

“What does that even mean?”

It isn’t often that Connor calls on the full breadth of her abilities. She prefers to keep them under wraps as a general rule because she knows it’s different for those without abilities. Still, it doesn’t take much to draw on her wellsprings of power, to wrap them around herself as a shield. Eichel takes a step back, not like he’s shocked, but like the amount of magic she can command isn’t what he’d anticipated.

“Like that.”

“But that’s not enough.” She hates the awareness in his eyes, like he already knows more about her than she’s shared.

“It’s not as prepared as I’d want to be,” she agrees. “It would be enough to get a taste of what’s going on.”

His face shifts again, and Connor almost sighs. “I’ll fucking walk you through it then. We’re not going back in there.”

“You going to leave in your gear?”

He outright scowls at her. “Wait. Here.”

There are eight replies on her tongue, all of which reminding him that she is an incredibly powerful woman who owns her own goddamn curse breaking business and this shit is kind of her thing, but he’s already clomping back into the room. Connor sighs, but does go to lean against the wall. She teases at the edges of the magic while she’s there, eyes closed and head back.

“I didn’t know the curse breaker they were calling in was you.”

Connor’s already smiling when she opens her eyes. Sam Reinhart, the gem of a human being he is, is already waiting, arms out. “It’s been forever.”

“I’m not the one who decided I was too good for Hockey Canada.” He says it with enough affection that she laughs as he hugs her, tight and hard. “At least I know we’re in the best hands though.”

“We’ll see,” Connor says, and gives him an almost resigned look. “The magic won’t even let me into the room.”

“The poison.”

She hums. “You know-“

“That we’re not supposed to give it a name, yeah. I didn’t.” He waves her away when she goes to remind him that repeating it is just as bad as naming it. “It’s been passed down by this point.”

“Has it, now?”

“I certainly wouldn’t make up something as uncreative as ‘the poison’,” is his reply just as Eichel steps out of the locker room. He’s definitely scowling and Connor suppresses the urge to roll her eyes.

“You know each other?”

“Davo here worked for Hockey Canada,” Sam replies, jovial as ever. Connor doesn’t miss the subtle step he takes back, deferential. “The World Junior days.”

“Uh huh.”

Sam laughs and claps Eichel’s shoulder. “I’ll leave her in your capable hands, asshole.”

“Do you eat steak?”

Connor’s eyebrow climbs here forehead. “What, not going to take me to the origin of chicken wings?”

“We both know that’s not diet approved.”

He says it with such an air of superiority that it takes Connor a beat to realize he’s putting on an act. Okay, it takes her a couple of beats, but she’ll be proud that she manages not to bite his head off while hers is busy processing.

“Alright, Mr Eichel. Steak it is.”

“Jack.”

“What?”

There’s something else in his eyes as he watches her, the same thing that’s been there since he stormed into her office and Connor’s insides twist and turn, heat thrumming in adrenaline through her blood. “Call me Jack.”

He takes her to a steakhouse, as promised. He even offers her the wine list. She declines, feeling a little drained from her Abilities ricocheting in reaction to the locker room.

“Jack!”

“Hi Carly.”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “Come here often?”

“Sam prefers his steak with fries,” he retorts, but then huffs. “The usual please.”

“You got it. And you?”

Connor also unrepentantly orders fries with her steak, just to see the disgruntled look on his face.

“Canadians.”

She primly closes her menu and hands it to Carly with a smile and a ‘thank you’, then fixes her gaze back on Jack. “It’s only in your locker room.”

“What?”

“The mutated magic,” Connor goes on, unfolding her napkin. “It’s not in the rest of the arena.”

“You know that already?”

“I was in the stands for that game.”

Jack flinches. “Should have come at the beginning of the season.

She knows all about the ten-game streak. “Was the magic around then?”

“It’s been there since before I got there. No one talked about it my first year. O’Reilly was talking about it in my second year.”

“Your ankle.”

Jack goes still. “After the World Cup, yeah.”

“You went down funny.”

“You’re following me?”

She feels her face flush and is grateful for the low lighting of the restaurant. “I told you, I knew something was up before you visited me.”

“Right.” But his eyes are sharp.

“You’ve had weird injuries every year, except your first.”

“You think-“

“No,” Connor says quickly. Edmonton’s curse is still fresh, even years later. Even broken, it’s a well-known warning. “I don’t think it has the power to cause injury.”

“But you don’t know.”

“I will tomorrow,” she offers and feels like she has to. It’s the same impulse that has her reaching and brushing her fingers against his. Her magic leaps too, taking her off-guard. Jack nods, slowly, his fingers twitch, but don’t move closer.

“The chances aren’t high,” she says, with all of the conviction she feels. “An injury curse would have done more damage by now.”

She doesn’t jump when he takes her fingers, but it’s a close thing. Her Abilities do and she knows he feels it. She can see the slight widening of his eyes. They settle into crystals and Connor feels herself shiver, physically and magically.

“You have an idea.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I have thoughts.”

“Coward.”

Connor hates that she can already tell he’s teasing. “You just bit my head off about not being able to tell for sure that it wasn’t an injury curse.”

His minute head tilt is all of the acknowledgement she’ll get.

“How much do you know about magic?”

“My sister has it.”

“Okay. So you know curses aren’t real.”

“Not the way fairy tales talk about them.”

“So, the thing in your locker room is a rotten spell. Quite literally. Probably.” She huffs out a frustrated breath. “It happens all the time, but this is pretty close to the worst I’ve ever seen.”

“It pisses you off.”

It does more than that. “Anyone with even a glimmer of Ability can cast a spell. But magic is something that requires nurturing. It’s essentially a living thing, not a means to a championship.”

“It hasn’t helped with the championship anyway.”

“It rarely does. And when the casters give up or turn negative-“

“The spell changes with them. That’s what this is?”

Connor leans forward and doesn’t realize she’s squeezing his hand until he squeezes back. Hell, she’d forgotten she was holding his hand to begin with. “This has seeped into every nook and cranny of your locker room for years. While calling it poison gives it strength, it’s also, unfortunately, apt.“

He inhales sharply.

“It’s been oozing through your locker room for years. When I go in there tomorrow with my magical equivalent of a hazmat suit, finding the origin point is going to be the hardest part.”

“It doesn’t want you there. It kicked you out.”

The analogy makes her smile. “Basically.”

“It knows.”

“Like recognizes like,” she says with a shrug. “The same way it lets you in because you’re a part of it.”

“A Sabre.”

“Essentially, yes.”

“You’re a threat.” His voice is low, rich. She’s fairly certain if she had less control of her magic, sparks would have literally flown. As it is, she can’t help preening a little.

“I am very, very good at my job.”

His eyes flare. Her stomach heats.

They’re interrupted by the arrival of their appetizers.

Connor’s checking her messages on the curb when Jack comes out of the restaurant, a frown between his eyebrows. Connor wants to smooth it out, which feels a little hysterically irrational.

“Carly thought it was a date.”

Laughter rises up first and makes the corners of her mouth curve up. “You did ask me to dinner. And picked the place. And paid.”

She can see his flush in the bright lights of the street. “Did you think this was a date?”

The real answer is no, but she’s also human enough to admit he’s attractive. Plus, the Jack she’s spent the last few hours with is not the one she sees sassing reporters on national television. The grumpy exterior hides a man that so obviously cares about this team and this city. She is human and his confidence is attractive. She also can’t say she isn’t intrigued by the way her magic seems to want to leap at him.

“You tell me,” she finally says.

There’s an awareness that lights in his gaze, that makes her shiver as he looks her over. “I’ll order an Uber.”

He doesn’t give in to her. Connor knows her reputation precedes her, knows she’s incredibly intimidating when she wants to be. Jack doesn’t seem to mind or care. She can see the extra light in his eyes as me makes her fall apart with hands and his mouth and deep punishing thrusts that have her arching off his bed.

He’s also a cuddler and possessive as she finds out when she steps into the kitchen having thrown on one of his t-shirts. He pauses scrambling eggs to watch her settle at his kitchen island.

“Sabres colours suit you.”

“Not as well as Leaf colours.”

He shivers dramatically and it makes her laugh, but he’s sober once he’s poured the eggs in a frying pan and turned back to her.

“What do you need?” he asks, then clarifies when she shoots him a confused look, “To be ready for tomorrow.”

Connor thinks about it. “Nothing special. I’m sure you know salt circles are a myth.”

“But you need something.”

“An anchor,” she admits. “Something this many years in the making…. Well, you’ve seen how strong it can get.”

He’s watching her with uncanny awareness. “What kind of anchor?”

She’d intended to ask Sam. He was tied to the team, tied to what was in the locker room. He was also tied to her.

“A person is better,” she begins slowly. “Less spell work because they can react to things going wrong. But something like your mascot’s head could work too.”

There’s silence for long enough that she’s not surprised when Jack says, “I’m a human.”

Who would be a better anchor than Sam. It’s annoying in its own way. She doesn’t want it to be him, because now, sitting here in his t-shirt, it feels like a conflict of interest. Yet, it’s also perfect. Who is more connected to the team than it’s captain? Who’s more connected to her than the man who had not only given her three spectacular orgasms so far, but who her magic also responds to so very easily. He’d also been the one who had driven to Toronto to seek her out in the first place.

“Sam would do it.”

He frowns. Connor knows she’s giving in.

“You can’t pull me out because you’re scared,” she says, and leans forward on the island. “You have to trust that I’ll know if I need to pull myself out.”

“You’re the best, right? That’s why you’re here.”

They watch each other for a moment before Connor impulsively holds out her pinkie. “Swear,” she says.

He wants to laugh. Instead, he links their pinkies.

She gasps, or maybe it’s him or maybe it’s both of them, as her magic leaps, visible in ways it normally isn’t without deliberate conscious thought. It twines through the fingers he has linked to hers and trails up his arm like it’s searching, inspecting. Eventually, it settles at his wrist.

“Well,” she finally says, breathless and her heart hammering. “I guess that’s that.”

He’s around the counter in an instant and she squeaks when he pulls her from her seat. She is by no means light, but it still feels effortless when he lifts her up to sit on the counter.

“The eggs,” she says breathlessly. He growls and spreads her legs, steps between them to take her mouth in a searing kiss.

“Don’t move.”

He fucks her there over the counter, magic skipping over and between them, eggs discarded in the sink.

They make a pit stop at her hotel before moving on to KeyBank and Jack is impossibly tense the entire time. It’s actually killing her.

“You need to relax,” she says gently and reaches out to put her hand over his. He immediately twines their fingers and it surprises them both. “It’s going to be fine.”

“That spell has a life of its own.”

“Most do,” she reminds him. “In fact, they really all do.”

“Not like this.”

She hums a vague acknowledgement. “This one’s a little out of hand, yes. But that doesn’t make it different.”

“You’re seriously not worried?”

She’s nervous, but not really worried. It always feels like this for the big ones. She delicately pitches her voice to be gentle, not cocky as she says, “I’m really good at what I do.”

He blows out a shaky breath. “Walk me through it again.”

So she does, about how she’s going to temporarily tie them together because if she fails and the magic backlashes, someone will literally have to drag her out. She tells him about how she’s going to fight her way into that dressing room, find the pins holding the mutated spell in place and cut them, how she’s going to fix it. It’s simple.

“It’s probably a victory spell,” she goes on, absently stroking the back of his hand. “Those get nasty when you stop believing.”

Jack squeezes her hand, right before he throws the car into park. He looks beyond pissed when he says, “Let’s fucking get this over with.”

She lets him lead her by the hand through the winding hallways of KeyBank, let’s her body settle into what’s coming. As they get closer, she shoves him up against the wall.

“Wha-?”

She kisses him, long and deep and thorough and he lets her. She lets it act as the conduit for the connection spell, lets it wind around her as he gives as good as he gets. It’s with a shocking amount of reluctance that she pulls away. The connection hums in the back of her mind now, comforting but like a swarm of angry bees. It makes her grin to feel his irritation so clearly.

“Let’s go break a curse.”

Her adrenaline spikes as she approaches the room, as the ‘curse’ and her magic spark and crackle together. She can’t help the way her breath comes faster in her lungs. This is the type of thing she thrives on, the fight to even set foot in the locker room. When she does, it looks clean, tidy, ready for players later. Connor sits, just inside the door where she can get out if she needs. It’ll be easier to move through the fog of the spell once she’s broken a few pegs. She rests her palms against the floor. The threads of magic leap under her palm and it’s so easy to pinpoint the rotten spell mixed in with the traditional magics.

“You always protect against the curse,” she murmurs to herself, and maybe yeah, to the magic too. “But never against the good spells gone bad.” She makes a note to put Mitch on that trail, see if she can put that Leafs job to good use for the Able Community.

It feeds another thing about magical perception that pisses her off: the idea that it’s somehow complicated to break this kind of spell, to break most spells. It’s a strength of will thing, when it comes to those with Abilities, and Connor’s willpower is stronger than a diamond.

_Done yet?_

She startles at the impatience and snark. The connecting spell shouldn’t allow Jack to communicate with her outside of normal means, and the fact that she can hear him in her head makes goosebumps rise across her skin.

 _It’s still not quite that simple_ , she replies, picking away safe magic. The rot has spread to a few of the closest protection spells and she takes care of it easily and quickly with a light stroke and the thought of pure, clean protection. _It’s a spell that has to be eradicated, not simply broken._

Breaking is the easy part. The fungus has left the spell brittle and easy to literally snap between her hands. She starts at the door and makes her way around to each stall, pulling the magic up and breaking the victory spell as she goes. It’s tedious work and it leaves little piles of dirty ash in her wake, but it’s methodical, almost mindless.

_This is taking forever._

It’s been no more than fifteen minutes and Connor rolls her eyes. She can feel the cloying depression lifting out of the room, so he can just shut it.

It’s his stall she leaves for last and that’s deliberate. She looks at the blue and gold and sucks in a deep breath.

_Captain’s stall. I should have fucking known._

The Sabres certainly take their captaincy seriously. At least, Connor knows Jack does. It doesn’t take an expert in Jack nor hockey to see it.

 _It starts with leadership_.

Connor sighs and rolls her eyes at the self-deprecation, tugging on the connection until he’s physically in the room with her and ignoring the thrill it gives her that it was that easy. “I’m not going to waste my breath reminding you how responsibility works in a team environment,” she says, settling in his stall. “But I will show you this curse you’re so hell bent on.”

“I’d really just like to stop losing.” _I’d like to stop failing._

“Stands to reason,” she says as she pulls the last mutated thread up. She snaps it clean in half right in front of his eyes. The magical backlash makes her glad she’s sitting because even Jack stumbles back a little.

“That’s it?”

“People hire curse breakers to identify spells, not to break them,” she replies. “But they figure they’re the same thing.” Connor shrugs. “It’s admittedly harder to do when you can’t actually see the magic.”

Jack’s frowning as he looks at the little piles of dust around the room. “Anticlimactic.”

“Magic often is, but it’s casting the next spell that’s really cool.”

She kicks her shoes off and ignores the irritated sound he makes when she walks right over the logo, settling in the middle. “One day, hockey teams won’t lock the majority of their spells into their logos. Until then, a girl has to do what a girl has to do.”

With that, she yanks up the spellwork that makes up the core of the Sabres’ protections. It’s a glowing rainbow of colours and Connor murmurs a few quick words. The light spreads swiftly, reaching out to incinerate the remnants of the mutated spell. When they’re all gone, she lowers the spells back down to the middle of the buffalo’s back, tugging at the bow on her wrist that signifies their connection spell.

 _Magic is deceptively easy,_ she thinks, and yeah, maybe she’s testing, just a little. With the ‘curse’ solved, she’s a little intrigued by the way the connection spell had reacted to her and Jack.

“It really is,” he says, and startles them both. Connor thinks that’s what she’ll blame when she shuffles forward and reaches for his hands, when she goes so easily into the way he yanks her up into his arms. He’s hungry as he kisses her.

_You broke the spell._

And even that feels like a test. Connor can’t help but laugh. “I don’t know any better than you do.”

For a split second, it feels like everything freezes before he says, “Maybe you should stick around and find out.”

She barks out another laugh, quick and sharp. She’s giddy with it, with the success of breaking the spell, the ease in his shoulders like he can feel it too. He searches her face, the grin she can’t seem to wipe off or smother. “Gonna stick around, McDavid?”

His hands are huge on her lower back, strong and confident, even if she can feel apprehension wafting from him. “Yeah,” she says, because she’s intrigued by the telepathy and by him. “I guess I can do that.”

Jack groans into their kiss.


End file.
